


Learning How To Smile

by misbegotten



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's startling how easily Clint Barton has slotted into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning How To Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Everclear song. Look ma, no smut!

Despite the vagaries of his job -- and SHIELD is the home of everything unexpected -- Phil Coulson is largely a man of routine. He gets up at the crack of dawn (often before), drinks a glass of juice, runs five miles, showers, dons his suit, has breakfast, and drives to SHIELD headquarters to face another day of oddities and emergencies.

It's startling how easily Clint Barton has slotted into his life.

"It's too fucking early," Clint mumbles into his pillow, just like he always does, as Phil slips out of bed.

Phil ruffles his hair fondly, and drops a kiss onto his shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

The urge to get back in bed is almost overwhelming when Clint is laid out like some sort of Greek statue, sinewy muscle and golden skin. Phil pushes the urge away and retreats into the bathroom.

When he emerges, there's a glass of juice on the kitchen counter and Clint is pulling on his tennis shoes. He's wearing an old t-shirt of Phil's and a pair of scandalously short shorts, and again Phil tamps down the urge to take him back to bed. Instead, he drinks his juice while Clint uses the bathroom, and then they're ready to head out.

New York in the early hours of the morning is still New York, busy with taxis and people going to and fro, even if they hunch a little in the brisk morning air and clutch their cardboard cups of coffee more tightly. Phil sets their pace and Clint falls in stride easily, and they pound the pavement to Central Park in unison. Clint asked him jokingly once if he ever worried about getting mugged and Phil just raised an eyebrow. "Right," Clint said, chortling. "You'd probably strangle him with your shoelaces or something."

Phil's lips quirk now at the memory, but with three miles behind him and another two to go he doesn't waste breath reminding Clint. They keep up a punishing pace -- Phil used to go farther, but now he settles for harder -- and it's not long before they're turning back home. Clint insists on racing him up the stairs to the apartment; for someone who detests mornings so thoroughly he gets adrenalized quickly, and Phil is more than willing to let him if it means a good view of Clint's ass preceding him up the stairs.

Clint has the shower running before Phil is done peeling off his sweat-stained clothes, and he lets them fall into a heap with Clint's, to be washed later. He shaves while Clint belts out a surprisingly good rendition of "Pride and Joy" and hands Clint a towel when he clambers out of the shower. "Want to dry me off?" Clint says, leering, but Phil counters mildly with, "Did you leave me any hot water?"

"Don't I always?" And of course, Clint always does, excepting for the times when they shower together and get distracted. Clint exits the bathroom still humming.

By the time Phil is showered and dressed, Clint is turning an omelet over in a pan on the stove. "Don't worry, I used Egg Beaters," he says, forestalling any comment about Phil's cholesterol levels.

Phil grins and rubs his thumb on the back of Clint's neck, feeling the pull of muscle as Clint leans into the small embrace. "Eat," Clint says gruffly, and Phil obeys.

They spar over the newspaper; neither of them wants the business section, because it's just more about Stark Industries and they get quite enough of that at work, thank you very much. Clint snags Sports and Phil ends up with Arts, but he doesn't mind. There's a jazz festival coming up in the spring, he reads, and maybe they'll get enough downtime to actually attend.

The rest of the day is likely to go to hell in a handbasket the minute they arrive at SHIELD. For now, Phil thinks, it can all go hang. He's got an omelet, he's got a cup of coffee, and he's got... forty-five minutes before he's expected anywhere.

That's more than enough time to lure Clint back to bed.


End file.
